


Arthur of Albion

by JabberwockyJinxes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Arthur, BAMF Merlin, Druid!Merlin, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JabberwockyJinxes/pseuds/JabberwockyJinxes
Summary: Arthur Pendragon was never supposed to take destiny into his own hands."My lord! It is treason, it is blasphemy to protect a sorcerer!"Merlin was never supposed to defy the prophecies."I'll shake your hand in hell, then."





	1. Butterflies and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! The basic concept of the work is this: What if Arthur was sent to live away from Camelot as a child for his own protection, while Merlin was raised as a druid? The other characters also come in along at various points. It follows the basic premise of the show (Magic is illegal, Merlin has magic, destiny is a thing) but the characters all have their own agenda and are much less willing to follow destiny's whims.
> 
> No major TW in this chapter, just non-graphic violence on the sameish level we see in the show.

Once upon a time, a little boy was born to a loving mother in a small town in a far, far away land. The villagers were peaceful, common folk and the boy was loved. But they soon found out that the little boy was different from the rest. You see, he had magic.

The first time he used magic, he was less than a day old. His mother watched in awe as he floated a little star-painted rattle across the room.

Schtick. Schtick. Schtick.

Soon after his birth, his mother fell into a deep, brooding depression and the boy was taken from her by well-meaning strangers. They called themselves druids and promised her that her little boy would never want for anything.

They christened him Merlin, after the free-flying hawk, their patron. They had knowledge of events yet to come and they knew that someday Merlin would take up the mantle of Emrys, but for now, they let him be an ordinary child. And so they travelled the warm plains of the Byzantine empire, explored the nooks and crannies of Krakow, and made it as far as chilly Novgorod. They faced many enemies, but it was a happy enough existence.

In a bustling port town in Seville, Merlin met a little orphan boy named William. By the time Merlin had to go, they were fast friends and refused to be parted.

On their way up to Normandy, they received word that a slow conversion to Christianity had begun and that those who followed the Old Religion were being forced to convert and branded or even burned to death if they refused. The entire group was changed by the few months they passed there, and Merlin counted himself lucky to come away with only a mark etched into his hand (promptly scarred over; it wouldn’t do for someone in Camelot to recognize him as a druid) and a tangle of scar tissue on his back.

As the slow crumble of Roman civilization continued, they finally started making their way up north towards Camelot, Merlin’s destiny.

OOO

“Run!” Naira yelled. Merlin hesitated, grabbing Will’s hands. There was fire everywhere raining down from flaming arrows. Everywhere he looked was red, flickering red against the starry sky.

Merlin looked around, panicked. If he could just locate the source of the arrows he could stop them, but the attackers had slipped into the camp as they slept. His breath came faster.

Sending out a pulse of magic, he located the attackers- three bowmen perched on the ledge of rock they had tried to shelter under. He saw an arrow peek out from atop the cliff. With a flick of his fingers, he sent a wave of sheer, devastating force towards the archer, blowing him backwards with a resounding crack.

“Heremeagen!”

Still holding onto Will’s wrist, he looked around the camp. Knights of Camelot were everywhere, holding their heads high while they killed Merlin’s family.

There was too many. They were going to die-

With a ragged war cry, Will threw himself into the battle. Merlin tugged him back.

“You can’t!”

“I have to!” He said. He pulled back. “I’m not that important. You are. You need to put aside your grief and get to Camelot!”

Then he pulled himself away and Merlin was left staring after him as he disappeared into the fire.

Merlin ignored his advice.

One man fell with a well directed spell. A wave of his hand and another three lay on the ground with glassy eyes. A haze of bloodlust made his sight go red and it wasn’t until he caught sight of Will he realized that the red wasn’t in his head; it was blood running down the camp in wandering little rivers.

He saw Will fall with a faint cry, but his head was like molasses. He saw the blood blossom from underneath Will’s shirt, but he didn’t notice that either. All he felt was fear like he had never felt before as the man standing above his friend raised his sword for a final blow.

Merlin twitched a finger. The man crumpled to the ground, dead. He turned and felt a steel blade swishing past his shoulder, catching on his shirt but not drawing blood. The knight, only a few years older than Merlin himself, stared back at him, pulling his sword back. There was an expression of tightly controlled horror on his handsome face.

“What are you waiting for?” The knight demanded, jerking his sword threateningly. “Run!”

Merlin stared at him for less than a second longer, then took off. He cleared a path towards Will, bleeding bodies littering the way. He scooped the shorter boy into his arms and left the camp, taking one last glance at the handsome knight, who had started yelling orders to stop the fighting and to put out the fires, do you want the entire forest to burn down?

He could faintly see Naira curled up around a knife, almost like she was sleeping except for the blood running down her face. And further in the distance, he could see a stray knight kicking the limp corpse of Isidro, who had taught Merlin how to make butterflies in the air.

Whispering healing spells under his breath, Merlin stumbled towards Camelot. There was a man there named Gaius who was sympathetic towards sorcerers and druids, he would heal Will.

(Merlin tried to ignore the blood staining his arms.)

They made it to Camelot as the sun touched the horizon. Merlin’s legs wobbled with fatigue. He had stopped feeling pain several miles ago and now all he could feel was the unsteady breath of Will on his shoulder.

A guard called out to them as they approached, shouting orders and calling for aid.

“Stop! Stop right there!”

The guard probably said something else, but Merlin had already crumpled to the ground in a dead faint.

OOO

“...Alive?” someone was asking.

“He’ll survive. He lost a lot of blood, but not as much as the other boy.”

“I wonder-” the first said. It was a young voice, cultured, female, and obviously intelligent.

“The guard said it looked like they had been in some sort of fight.”

“The raid?”

Silence. Merlin groaned, trying to roll over, only to be stopped by a piercing pain in his side. Instantly, wrinkled hands pushed him back into his original position.

“Water?” Merlin rasped. There was a rustling sound and the first voice (a coldly gorgeous woman) bustled out of the room.

The older man fixed him with a glare. “And how did you get yourself into this state, young man?”

“Raid.” Merlin said foolishly, still feeling fuzzy and confused. The older man clucked.

“Your injuries are consistent with a short skirmish with some bandits. They probably snuck up on you and took your money, but they hadn’t injured you as severely as they thought, so you carried your friend back here.”

“No, I said it was a- Oh. Yes, Will and I were trying to get to Camelot. They came at us from behind.”

Gaius nodded. “Your name?”

“Merlin.”

“Morgana will be back in a minute with water. Your friend -Will, right?- had a large gash on his side. He’ll survive, but I want him on bed rest for at least a week. You had smaller gashes all along your arms, torso, and legs. Those should be largely healed within a week.”

“Thank you.” Merlin rasped. He was about to ask Gaius if Will had woken up yet, but he was interrupted by the beautiful woman entering the room.

“Here’s your water.” She sat by his bedside and put the water in his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Merlin. And you?” He spilled some water down his shirt, hands shaking for some reason. Gaius raised an eyebrow and helped him bring the water to his lips.

“Morgana. Lady Morgana.”

“Lady Morgana is King Uther’s ward.”

“Oh.” Merlin exhaled. He wanted to know if this woman shared her King’s prejudices.

“And what brought you to Camelot? It’s not often people stagger into our gates, covered in blood, ranting about fire.”

Merlin looked at her askance. He didn’t remember talking at all, let alone talking about fire.

“My mother sent me and my friend Will to Camelot to look for work, but we were attacked by bandits. We didn’t see them coming.”

“Ah. What did they take?”

“All our money and supplies.” Merlin said, feeling faintly uneasy with all the questions. He decided to keep his story as close to the truth as possible. “We were travelling with several others, but as far as I know we were the only survivors.”

“I see. And where are you from? Your accent isn’t familiar to me.”

“I come from Ealdor. It’s on the border of Esscetir.”

“Near Anglia?” Merlin slowly shook his head, still feeling like he was several steps behind this woman. Gaius frowned at him disapprovingly as he tended to Will.

“On the western border, my lady.”

Then Morgana asked what brought him to Camelot and Merlin froze, excuses spluttering out half-formed on top of each other.

“The harvest was poor this year-”

“Really? I thought, with the beautiful mix of sun and rain, it would have been bountiful.” Morgana smiled like a cat who had just caught a prize bird.

“Not in Essetir.” Gaius cut in briskly. “The mountains don’t provide the same moderating effect as Camelot gets, and inland Essetir is further away from the sea.”

“Ah.” Morgana said, shrugging her elegant shoulders. “Well, as long as you're not some evil sorcerer hell bent on killing Uther, we’ll get along just fine.”

Merlin blinked.

“What?”

“I understand, Merlin. You’re definitely a farm boy from Ealdor and you definitely don’t have magic.”

Merlin gaped. “What? How- I- I don’t understand.”

“Morgana, the boy needs to rest. He’s had a long journey.” Gaius interjected, busying himself with poking at Merlin’s side, and ouch, when had he injured his side? He didn’t remember that at all.

“Of course, Gaius. I’ll be on my way.”

Morgana turned to him from where she sat at his bedside and lowered her lips to Merlin’s cheek.

“Welcome to Camelot, Emrys.” she whispered, quiet so even Gaius couldn’t hear. And then she kissed him on the cheek, and a moment later she was gone.

OOO

A day later, Merlin was back up on his feet again. Will hadn’t yet woken, but Merlin had spent an enjoyable day wandering the streets of Camelot. He had run into Morgana again and her charmingly clumsy-tongued servant Gwen. They had passed several hours in the marketplace together. Merlin had seen luxuries that surpassed it before, but he had never actually tried the sweet apples or touched silken fabric.

Morgana and Gwen brought him from shop to shop. He delighted over everything.

At a stand selling warm woolen blankets for the winter, a little girl peeked out from behind her mother’s skirts. She peered up at Merlin’s hand, the one he had burned with acid all those years ago to obscure the tattoo from Normandy.

“Mum, why does that man’s hand look weird?” She asked. Merlin retracted his hand from the rough fabric like he had touched hot coals.

The shopkeeper glanced uncomfortably at Merlin, pushing her child to the side. “Amelie, remember, you should be seen and not heard.”

“It’s fine.” Merlin surprised himself by saying. “I worked for a healer for awhile. It was just a potion went wrong.” It was true, strictly speaking.

They moved away and Morgana quickly broached the topic again. “Is that true?” She demanded.

Gwen rested a hand on Morgana’s arm and spoke in a low voice. “He probably doesn’t want to talk about it. The scarring looks painful.”

Merlin glanced between the two, unsure of how much Gwen knew. Morgana already knew an unreasonable amount about him. He considered his options: If he admitted to being a druid in front of Gwen, how would she react? Eventually he decided to stick to the truth as closely as possible.

“I got a tattoo I badly regretted later. I was irresponsible.”

That was all he would say on the subject. He quickly changed the topic to better days; the feast to be held later that night. Gwen invited Merlin to stand at the feast with her and listen to the Lady Helen sing. Rumour had it she could sing so beautifully it once broke the heart of a fearsome Saxon king.

They parted ways after several hours, leaving Merlin with far too much silence and far too much time to think. He returned to Gaius and they spoke of healing herbs and city life and many other things, but nothing about magic, nothing he truly wished to know.

Half an hour before sunset, Merlin and Gaius set out to the castle.

At the feast, he began to feel that something was off. He quietly turned to consult Gaius, but the old man was asleep on his feet, barely hanging on to consciousness. He slumped. Merlin lowered him hastily to the floor.

As he lay Gaius down, Merlin could hear the steady thump of other heavy bodies slumping and hitting the floor. He jerked to his feet just in time to see Lady Helen begin to weave a spell, preparing to send powerful magic towards the high table.

Merlin sent a wave of magic towards the chandelier sending it crashing to the ground. It hit Lady Helen’s back and she fell with a pained groan. But she wasn’t done. She pulled out a long, sharp knife from the folds of her dress and threw it.

Merlin didn’t think. Time slowed down to a crawl and he dashed towards the target.

Just as his hands touched the prince of Camelot, Merlin recognized him.

The handsome knight, the one who told me to run!

He could see the realization in Arthur’s eyes as he recognized Merlin. They fell to the floor together, knife whizzing over his head by mere millimetres.

Time sped back up. The blood rushed in Merlin’s ears.

Arthur rolled over to stand up, then caught a glimpse of the back of Merlin’s neck. His druidic tattoo stood out clearly against his neck, unprotected by his neckerchief, which had come loose during the rush.

Merlin stared back at him, mouth dry.

Arthur grabbed the back of his neck, dragging him to his feet. His face transformed to rage and Merlin cringed, planning to make a run for it as soon as he could.

He caught Arthur’s eye and the prince nodded minutely at him. Stay where you are.

“Of all the stupid, irresponsible things.” Arthur raged. “To run in front of a flying dagger? Are you suicidal, boy, or are you just stupid?”

Merlin squeaked.

Uther raised a placating hand. “Calm now, Arthur. The boy may have saved your life.”

Arthur turned to Merlin, keeping a firm grip on the back of his neck. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Merlin!”

“And what are you doing here? You don’t work in the castle.”

“I’m staying with Gaius.” He said, twisting in Arthur’s iron grip.

Uther looked at Gaius, who nodded in confirmation. “Arthur, the boy has done nothing wrong. In fact, I’m inclined to reward such great bravery.”

Arthur snorted.

“Merlin son of…” Uther trailed off for a second, unsure of Merlin’s father’s name.

“Hunith.” Merlin helpfully supplied. Uther quirked an eyebrow.

“Merlin, son of Hunith, for your bravery and loyalty towards my son, I hereby instate you as personal manservant to the prince of Camelot.”

Merlin took one look at Arthur’s face and thought shite.

“Very well.” Arthur ground out. Still holding onto the back of his neck, Arthur began to steer him out if the dining hall. “In that case, I will retire right away. I no longer wish to celebrate.”

Uther scowled after his son, but made no move to stop him.

Once they were alone in the dark hallways, Arthur relaxed his grip on Merlin’s neck slightly, but didn’t let go.

“Come with me.” He said tensely. Merlin followed, not speaking.

They turned into a room after a few more minutes, Arthur dismissing the guards. Once they were inside alone, Arthur sank into a chair, letting out a sigh of relief.

Merlin stood, unsure.

“Let me check your neck. I hung on pretty hard in there.”

Merlin’s limbs felt leaden and weary. “I don’t understand why you did that.”

Arthur stood and began prodding at his neck, ignoring Merlin’s unspoken question. He made a surprised sound and pushed Merlin into the chair, moving swiftly over to a cupboard and pulling out a clean white bandage.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been hit.” He accused. Merlin reached a lethargic hand to his head. It came away bloody.

“Oh.” He said. “I didn’t notice.”

“It’s not so bad.” Arthur said. “Head wounds bleed badly but the knife only just skimmed you. Luckily.”

There was a long silence before Merlin spoke.

“Thank you. For before.”

He didn't refer to which ‘before’ he was speaking of. Arthur had spared his life twice now.

“I have enough death on my conscience.” He turned so Merlin could look him in the eye. “Why did you come to Camelot? Your accent speaks of time on the mainland and you’re a druid. Why come here?”

Merlin raised his scarred hand so Arthur could see it. “Albion isn’t the only place where the tides speak of war. We were driven out of the Byzantine Empire, cut overseas to Sicily, then through the Roman Empire to southern Iberia. Then we started back to Normandy, but we were- we were driven out.”

“Why leave Iberia if it was safe?”

“It wasn’t.” Merlin said. He would say no more on that topic. Arthur seemed to sense that because he changed the topic.

“You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

“I’m fine.” Merlin said, feeling distinctly not fine.

Arthur didn’t seem to hear him, off in his own world. “We’ll need to do something about your accent. And get you a neckerchief to cover that bloody tattoo.”

Merlin dozed on the chair while Arthur paced back and forth across the room, feet wearing down the cold stone. Merlin had been there several hours and Arthur had fallen into a brooding silence before he snapped out of it. He woke Merlin and pulled him to his feet, a reassuring hand on the small of his back as he guided him towards Gaius’s chambers.

Arthur left him just outside the chambers.

“Good night, Merlin.” He said. “I expect you with me first thing tomorrow morning.”

He slipped away, leaving Merlin gazing helplessly after him.

He had heard about the Prince before. People spoke of his wisdom and bravery in battle and the way the sun caught in his hair on nice days.

Merlin didn’t know exactly what he felt for the brilliant, surprisingly kind prince. But he knew already that he owed the prince his life and his loyalty.


	2. Maps and machination

Merlin returned bright and early to Arthur’s chambers only to find Arthur already up, dressed, and talking with a knight. Arthur waved him in.

“Merlin, this is Sir Leon. Leon, this is Merlin, my new manservant.”

“I heard.” Leon smirked. “I heard the pair of you put on quite the show yesterday.”

“My reputation precedes me.” Arthur said drily. “Merlin, have you eaten?”

Merlin blinked. “Er, no.”

“Get enough for three then. Leon will eat with us.”

“Eat with us?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, not at all.” Merlin said, head reeling. He knew a servant’s place and it wasn’t at his master’s breakfast table. He exited the room and began to search for the kitchens.

On the way there, he walked past Morgana’s chambers. He heard voices inside talking with raised voices. He cast a quick spell to enhance his hearing.

“-if you won’t fully commit, I’ll have to ask you to kindly leave!”

“I won’t bring him into this, Morgana. He’s not to be involved.”

“Gwen. You’re involved now. They’ll find you and they’ll try to hurt the ones you love regardless. You’ve been playing this game almost as long as me. You should know that by now.”

“I won’t, 'Gana. My answer is final.”

“Very well.” Morgana said icily. “So be it. In that case, I’ll impose on you to find us another messenger.”

“What about Merlin? I know there’s more to him than you claim.”

Another servant passed by carry a large pile of linens and Merlin pretended to not be eavesdropping.

“He has a different role. A much more important one “ Morgana said. “I can’t tell you anything more just yet.”

Merlin heard footsteps approaching from the west staircases and started walking away quickly. A minute later, he heard a voice call out to him.

“Merlin!” The king of Camelot called. Merlin stopped and turned to face Uther, apprehensive. He had no idea what the King could possibly want with an ordinary person like him.

“Good morning, sire.”

“Good morning. Walk with me.”

Merlin’s heart thudded in his chest. Uther had been in position to see Merlin’s druidic tattoo if Arthur’s hand had slipped even a millimeter. Had he seen it?

He stayed silent waiting for Uther to speak first. They walked for several long minutes, Uther directing him to take a turn into a side corridor.

“What are your first impressions of my son?” He finally said.

Merlin was taken by surprise. “He’s a good man, sire. He’s hardworking and obviously cares deeply about his kingdom.”

“That’s good to hear.” Uther seemed lost in thought. “And the castle, the citadel?”

“It’s very beautiful.” Merlin replied, still unsure of what exactly was going on.

“This way. I assume you are picking up Arthur’s breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a shortcut here the servants like to use.” Uther pushed aside a tapestry to reveal a small passage. He stood aside so Merlin could walk in first. They walked in silence for a little less than a minute.

As they turned the corner, Uther stopped walking and froze on the spot. Merlin kept walking for a few paces, then turned to see what had stopped the king.

Slowly, as if he was in a trance, Uther walked closer to him. “Your neckerchief slipped. At the feast. I didn’t understand why Arthur did what he did at first. Why he tried so hard to make sure I couldn’t see your neck.”

Hand trembling, Merlin tugged his neckerchief up. “My lord? I don’t understand.”

Uther let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, I understand perfectly now.” His hand moved down to where his knife sat at his hips, resting on the sheath but not pulling it out. “I’ve known of my sons sympathetic tendencies for a considerable amount of time now. Ever since that cripple he squired for escaped Camelot all those years ago. You’re a druid.”

For a few seconds, Merlin wanted to run and hide. Instead, he straightened his back and looked Uther directly in the eye. He let his magic run through him, power settling over his body like a comfortable mantle he’d been born to wear. “I am.”

Far from being intimidated, Uther took another step towards Merlin. “A powerful one?”

“Very.”

“I had plans, Merlin,” Uther said, circling closer to him like a bird of prey, “Plans to get you to do as I asked purely based off what I already knew of you. Merlin the liar. You claim to be from Ealdor? Everyone in Camelot knows better. You created quite a sensation when you named yourself Merlin son of Hunith.”

“Are you trying to threaten me?” Merlin asked. He burned with curiosity (what about Ealdor, what about Hunith, he wanted to ask) but he tried to maintain his composure. Uther laughed again, throwing his head back in the exact same way his son did.

“Oh, Merlin. Nothing so low. But the breakfast hour starts soon, so we don’t have much time. Let’s talk business.”

“What do you want?”

Uther had circled so close he was right in Merlin’s space. Soon they stood, eye to eye. Merlin was just a little bit taller. He let some power flicker in his eyes as a warning.

“I want you to protect my son.” He said. Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but Uther cut him off with a hand in the air. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m the tyrant king of Camelot. I hate magic. How come I’m so willing to use it to protect my son?”

“Yes, why?”

“One day you’ll be a father, Merlin, and you’ll understand. No matter how much I may hate magic, I love my son more. And I’m willing to wear a hypocrites chains if it only means my son is safe.”

“You want me to protect him with magic.” Merlin said. “You really are a hypocrite.”

“Yes.” Uther said. “I want you to protect him, and Camelot. If you see a threat, you terminate it. If you hear of any threat at all, you come to me first and we come up with a plan to terminate it without revealing your part to the whole kingdom. If you so much as see someone look at my son wrong, you will determine if they are a threat or not, and if they are, you will kill them.”

“I’m to be a common assassin, then.” Merlin said coolly. “Why should I do that for you? I owe you no loyalty.”

“You will do so because I know who your father is, and because I know of your mother, but mostly you will do so because you’re already half in love with my son.”

Merlin stared at him, that mad, hypocritical Pendragon, who had evidently taught his son and foster-daughter the art of knowing everything at once.

As if knowing Merlin just needed one extra push to agree, Uther took a step back. 

“Come to my chambers after the feast tonight and I’ll tell you a story about your father. Think of it as an incentive to protect my son properly.”

“I’ll do it.” Merlin said. He had spent endless nights as a child wondering about who his father was. Was he brave? Was his mother very beautiful? Did she have a kind voice and soft hands? Was his father a good man, or a bad one? Where did his magic come from, and, most of all, why hadn’t his parents kept him? Had he been wanted?

Uther stared intently at Merlin, then took his arm down. Merlin let out a sigh of relief. The tension between the pair of them eased.

“I have to go get Arthur his breakfast.” Merlin said.

“My own manservant will be bringing mine soon.” Uther said.

There was an awkward beat of time where neither of them knew exactly what to do.

“Just keep going straight. Once you come out behind the tapestry of the Horned God, turn left and you’ll be at the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” Merlin said. “I’ll… see you around.”

Uther nodded, looking very uncomfortable. “Farewell, Merlin.”

Merlin fled.

He took the same route back through the secret passage to bring Arthur’s breakfast. He was very late.

Arthur and Leon looked up from the map in sync. “Merlin. What took so long?” Arthur asked.

“I got lost.” Merlin lied. He set the tray down on the table. Arthur and Leon, and Merlin a few seconds later, pulled out chairs and began to eat. He looked down at the map.

“What does that show?” he asked.

“It’s a map of all of Albion.” Arthur answered. He began to point out the borders, cities of interest, landmarks, and towns, all drawn in exquisite detail. It was enjoyable to listen to Arthur speak. He obviously cared very deeply for the land, and was endlessly enthusiastic to be able to share his knowledge. He emphasized the strategic points that they would need to protect in the coming season in order to hold off the Saxons. Their discussion continued until the sun had rose to the point in the sky that signified that training was due to begin.

Watching Arthur work was another thing altogether. He moved from person to person correcting their stance, offering suggestions, and leaving them a little better than before. He sparred with Merlin for about half an hour (For the goddess's’ sake, Merlin, protect your right flank, you’ll never defeat the Saxons if you fight like that.) and then he had Merlin running back and forth with targets and then getting him water for a bath and out of his armour. Before Merlin knew what had happened it was already lunchtime. He was already dripping with sweat, muscles burning.

During the afternoon he attended to Arthur at a council meeting. Afterwards Arthur asked him what his opinions were on various topics and he listened carefully and considered Merlin’s advice. It was a heady feeling to have the full attention of someone like the Prince.

Despite all of that, Merlin still felt that there was a large part of Arthur he hadn’t seen yet. He didn’t think of it, too busy running here and there and scrubbing and polishing to do so, until later that evening when Arthur had retired to his chambers.

Arthur sat down, and began to rise right away. He winced, so Merlin pushed him back down.

“Sire? What’s wrong?”

“When we are in private you must call me Arthur.” He insisted. Merlin sighed at his stubbornness and tried again.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just been a busy few months. Lots to prepare for.”

“If you are hurt, you need to tell me. I’m staying with Gaius. I can get you something for it.”

“It’s my shoulder.” Arthur admitted. “I just strained it during training. It’s fine.”

“Let me take a look.” Merlin said. Arthur shifted his shirt sideways and exposed the flesh.

Merlin swallowed, throat suddenly very dry. There was some swelling, but Arthur was right, it would heal quickly. It wasn’t the injury that concerned him.

“Arthur,” he said, “You shouldn’t neglect your own well-being like that. The kingdom won’t fall if you take a half-hour off to get a salve from Gaius.”

“That’s what you’re for.” Arthur said. Merlin reached around and pressed his hands down onto it. Arthur groaned and Merlin quickly retracted his hands.

“Did that hurt?”

“No, it’s fine, keep going.” Merlin pressed down again. “It’s just a little sensitive.”

“I’ll draw you another bath.” Merlin decided. “The hot water will do you good. And then I’ll go get a salve to bring down the swelling.”

“If you want.” Arthur said. “You’ll feel it in your back tomorrow. I think we both worked hard today.”

“I want to.” Merlin said. He had to look away from Arthur because looking Arthur right in the eye would be too much after the day he had had. Ugh - there were so many emotions he would have to sort through later. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”

After drawing Arthur another bath (and he was right, Merlin would feel it tomorrow), he went to get the salve for Arthur’s shoulder. While he was at Gaius’s, he stopped briefly to see Will. He still hadn’t woken. Merlin was beginning to think he never would.

It was lonely in Camelot. Not the kind of lonely that there was no one to talk to, but the kind of lonely where he didn’t understand how anything was supposed to work anymore. There were the Pendragons who were supposed to hate magic, but both had found out about his and hadn’t seemed to care at all. The Lady Morgana, who made small-talk and then turned around and called him Emrys, like the sorcerer of legend. And the talk of higher plans and The Once and Future King and all mixed up in that, the tantalizing mystery of his parentage and Ealdor.

He hadn’t forgotten about his meeting with Uther later that evening.

When he returned to Arthur’s chambers, the Prince had just finished bathing and had dressed himself in a pair of old, worn breeches for sleeping. He lay out on his bed face down.

Merlin swallowed hard and sat next to him. He began massaging the oil into Arthur’s densely scarred back, willing his magic to heal the small wound. After a few long minutes of silence, Arthur finally spoke in a small, guilt-ridden voice.

“Can you tell me about your people?”

Merlin stilled his hands. “My people?”

“The ones killed in the raid.”

Merlin hesitated again. “Are you sure?”

“They deserve to be remembered.”

Merlin nodded, continued rubbing the oil in. Then he spoke of his family: Of Naira and Isidro, who had been his family when he had no one else; of the newborn twins Caiside and Corraidhin who smiled at a month old; of Seisyll who studied the mysteries with fervent devotion; of Ninian who dreamt of the shores of Avalon; of Leofflaed the brave who had a laugh so large that could keep away monsters, and of so many others who Merlin hadn’t been able to save.

“I ordered that the children should be spared.” Arthur whispered, shame clouding his voice. “You have to believe me. I did.”

If Arthur felt the tear hit his back, he didn’t say anything. “I believe you.”

OOO

After he was finished serving Arthur, Merlin went on his search for Uther. He already knew what questions he wanted to ask. He wanted to know who his father was, why his father was a traitor, and perhaps most of all, he wanted to know about Ealdor.

When he arrived at Uther’s chambers, he discovered yet another strange sight that made him question the Pendragons. Uther was sitting laughing with a servant Merlin had noticed earlier in the day, mostly because the man (about five years younger than Uther) was completely missing his right hand. Uther greeted him at the door and asked his servant (Aldred) to pour them wine, and then he was free to go.

Merlin sat, attention turning from servant to master. “You said you had answers for me.”

“I do.” Uther leaned forward. “I’ll answer one question of your choosing tonight. For every time that you save my son's life, I’ll answer one more question.”

“What if I run out of questions? What will my incentive be then?” Merlin would save Arthur anyway, he thought. He already had something of a bond with Arthur, but his duty to his people, the druids, would always come first.

Uther smiled. It didn’t look like a tyrant's smile, and that was confusing. “I can assure you I could answer a question every day for the rest of your life and you would never run out.”

Merlin thought carefully on what his first question should be. Right now, he had several main questions pressing on his mind. But most of all, he wanted to know about his father.

“You mentioned earlier that my father was a traitor.” The thought didn’t bother Merlin since he knew it meant his father likely fought for magic. “Who was my father?”

“Who is your father.” Uther corrected. “As far as I know, he isn’t yet dead.”

“Who is he, then.” Merlin answered. But his head was spinning. He knew his mother hadn’t been physically able to care for him, and that was why the druids took him. But if his father was alive, why hadn’t he been there?

It was possible he was a traitor. It was possible that he had just left his family for no reason at all.

“Nearly twenty-two years ago now, the Purge began. I pursued sorcerers relentlessly across Camelot. If they got to the Camelot border, I put a price on their head. In those days, anyone who brought me a sorcerer could earn themselves five gold coins- enough to feed, clothe, and pay rent for their family for a year. The price on your father’s head was fifty gold coins.”

Merlin sat back. That amount of money for one sorcerer - it defied explanation. He started to wonder if his father was the one who set off the purge.

“We had been friends once. Balinor - your father - and I had grown up together. We were rarely seen apart. In fact, he was even the one who introduced me to Ygraine. I inherited the throne from my childless uncle. At that time, Camelot was no more than a conveniently located backwater. With Balinor and Ygraine at my side, we doubled, tripled, quadrupled the size of Camelot. Then Ygraine and I - but that is a story for another day. When the purge started - let’s just say he had betrayed us so thoroughly I wanted him to suffer badly, and then I wanted him to die. He had magic, you see. And he was a dragonlord. And that is all I will tell you today.”

“What’s a dragonlord?” Merlin asked. “And what about you and Ygraine?”

“My son’s life comes under threat often enough. You’ll get those answers from me soon.”

Merlin got up, thinking he would go to Gaius right away and ask for more answers. He was stopped at the door by Uther’s voice.

“Oh, and Merlin? One last thing. Remember that if anyone catches you using magic, you’ll be burned at the stake.”

Merlin turned. “Why do you do that? Burn them?”

Uther gave him a strange look. “Ask Gaius.You’ll be interested in his answer.”

OOO

It had been an interesting week.

Merlin had been in Camelot for a grand total of two days. In those two days, no less than four people had discovered his magic, he had been threatened and bribed within two minutes of each other, he had saved the Prince of Camelot’s life and become his servant, he had been kissed on the cheek by a noblewoman. He had overheard conversations he certainly shouldn’t have, and if Leon and Arthur weren’t planning something he would eat Arthur’s socks.

Morgana called him Emrys, the sorcerer of legend. If that was true - If Arthur was the Once and Future King - then that only made everything so much more complicated. He wondered, vaguely, when his life had taken such a dramatic turn, and how he could have lost everything so abruptly and then gained a destiny in the next blink of an eye.

If the mainland tides murmured of war, the coastal tides of Albion roared with it.

From the ashes of the dragon’s fire,  
From the famine shall be born  
From the oaks as forest’s burn,  
Will rise the greatest dragon’s Ire.

The Severn Sea shall o’er flow,  
Through seven months of rolling tides,  
Till the river Usk is fully dried,  
Till the fields of Albion lie Fallow.

Fish shall die in the heat thereof,  
And the serpents shall be born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is a little late? Life got extremely busy for about a year. It's going to continue being extremely busy, but I've adapted to this new pace of living and I know now how to schedule in time for myself.
> 
> Next update at 03/20/2018.


End file.
